


Cedar wood. Brown Sugar. Both Together.

by OmnivorousWitch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kemonomimi, M/M, Mild Angst, Omega Iwaizumi, PWP, Unrequited Love (?), alpha oikawa, crossover ship (chapter 2)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmnivorousWitch/pseuds/OmnivorousWitch
Summary: He may not be able to satisfy his girlfriends, but at least he’ll always have Iwaizumi like this.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It’s just porn dude. I hope you enjoy.  
> Also if you have contentions with this like idk please just back out of here.

Iwaizumi tastes like toothpaste. The flavor spreads, minty, sharp as Oikawa licks further into his mouth. 

Oikawa’s fingers find their way up Iwaizumi’s shorts, into thin boxer briefs, and along the curve of his ass. Iwaizumi’s long tail flicks back and forth, impatient. 

Dark ears flatten as Oikawa carefully plays with their curled ends. They’re huge ridiculous things, ill-suited to Iwaizumi’s stern face. 

He opens his mouth to make fun of them like he always does, but one of Iwaizumi’s teeth catches against his lip. The skin splits. Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi deeper, blood slipping between them, before pulling away. They catch their breath as the cut begins to sting. 

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi murmurs. His over-large ears manage to flatten even further. He leans in to lick the wound. The soft pink of his tongue sweeps over the blood still on his lips. 

Oikawa swallows the joke whole.

“You’re so rough,” he whines instead. 

“I said sorry,” Iwaizumi retorts. He moves to pull away, but Oikawa kisses him again through the taste of iron. 

It’s a sticky summer. The rainy season weighs down each breath. Even now, clouds hang low outside the window. 

Sweat clings to the hairs on the back of Oikawa’s neck. They make out lazily, carefully. There’s no urgency in the way Iwaizumi’s hand splays across his chest. Fingers trace the sloping collarbones, then further, coming up to run over the torn skin of his lip.

It’s gentle, almost reverent, and Oikawa shoves the thought away. 

He dips down to kiss Iwaizumi deeper. The futon rumples beneath them as his knees slide up. His hands seize Iwaizumi’s legs, and swing them over his thighs. 

Oikawa grins at the sight of Iwaizumi spread open for him. His fluffy tail curls up around one of Iwaizumi’s ankles. The white fur contrasts against Iwaizumi’s dark skin, while the warm brown tip of his tail tickles the inside of Iwaizumi’s calf. Thick cords of muscle flex beneath callused fingertips. 

Iwaizumi’s legs could crush melons, Oikawa thinks. He has a sudden vision of Iwaizumi crushing a melon between his thighs, the juice leaving sticky trails begging to be licked away. Oikawa‘s mouth waters at the thought. 

“You think you could crush a melon with these?” he asks aloud, pinching Iwaizumi's thigh just because he can.

Iwaizumi knees him in the side. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Oikawa laughs, long and loud. “You’re so mean.” He leans over Iwaizumi, ears turning to catch each soft moan that drifts into the air. His sharp teeth graze the pliant edge of Iwaizumi’s ear. “I think it’d be hot.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi snaps. His ears flicker, then flatten against his head as he pulls Oikawa into another rough kiss. The gentle touch of fingers is almost laughable in comparison. 

Stuffy air traps them together between the closed door and plain curtains drawn over the window, already humid air made heavier by ragged breathing as Oikawa rocks his hips against the wet spot in Iwaizumi’s pajamas. He struggles to form words when Iwaizumi grinds up against him. 

“Be nice to me,” Oikawa says. He tries to be flippant about it, and fails. His ears tuck backward. Oikawa finds refuge in Iwaizumi’s mouth, and Iwaizumi waits for the embarrassment to burn away before speaking again. 

“By text? Really?” Iwaizumi barely manages to ask, repentant. His breath is hot against Oikawa’s lips. They pause. 

Oikawa lets out a deep sigh. “Apparently she already has a new boyfriend, so she could only afford me a breakup by text.” He ignores the answering scowl and opts to suck on the soft skin of Iwaizumi’s neck.

There aren’t many soft things about Iwaizumi—no soft tits or hips—even his fur is a bit prickly. Oikawa has to take what he can get. But he doesn’t mind, especially not when Iwaizumi moans under his weight. So he tugs impatiently at their clothing until they’re both naked.

It’s dark. Tiny gaps in the curtains let in just the barest glimpses of cloudy moonlight. Oikawa peers through the gloom. His eyes trace over the taut muscle in his lap. Each inhale sounds louder in their pocket of the universe. 

Preparing Iwaizumi is like getting ready in the morning. There’s a process, and Oikawa knows it well. 

Oikawa opens him up with two fingers, then a third, before Iwaizumi complains about being treated too delicately. 

“I won’t break,” Iwaizumi grouses anyway. His tail writhes against the sheets.

“Patience is a virtue, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases. He tilts his head to catch Iwaizumi’s gaze. His hand goes still, but his tail wriggles playfully behind him. Any moment now. 

“Shut the fuck up and get back to it,” Iwaizumi says with a huff. Oikawa obeys eagerly. Iwaizumi’s legs tremble as Oikawa’s palm grinds again his clit. He begs for more with his eyes, lips sealed, too proud to voice what he wants. 

Other than the odd complaint, Iwaizumi isn’t one for talking during sex. He grunts, groans, and holds his breath as Oikawa fucks into him slowly. Both of Oikawa’s ears are alert. They swivel to catch each precious sound Iwaizumi makes when he’s split open.

A soft keening noise escapes into the air. 

That’s Oikawa’s favorite. 

He rewards Iwaizumi with a buck of his hips. His hands slip against sweat-slicked skin, clutching Iwaizumi closer as he humps mindlessly. 

“So fucking wet for me, Iwa-chan,” he gasps. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply, fingers weaving through Oikawa’s hair, brushing against the fur of Oikawa’s ears. His heels scrabble for purchase when Oikawa’s frantic thrusting shoves him against a wall. Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter open, tail twitching, head back against the pillows as he exposes the side of his neck. 

Oikawa pins Iwaizumi down, face burying into broad shoulders as his knot begins to swell. He presses his nose against Iwaizumi’s scent gland. The smell of cedarwood rushes through him, his hips grinding deeper, knot starting to lock into place. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moans. Iwaizumi’s arms wrap around him, pulling him closer as he finally comes. He feels Iwaizumi shivering with every shift of his hips. Then, Iwaizumi’s body curls around him, squeezing his knot. 

Almost there.

His lips pull back as he mouths at Iwaizumi’s skin. It wouldn’t take much. His teeth rest against the curve of Iwaizumi’s neck. 

Just one bite.

He takes a deep breath of sex and trees—the callused pad of Iwaizumi’s thumb swipes away a tear tracking down his face. Spit slips from the corner of his mouth as comes. His hips twitch, grinding, determined to fuck his semen into Iwaizumi’s heat.

“You’re okay, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says. His voice is even, as if streams of come aren't distending his stomach. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi’s throat in reply. His ears perk up. He listens for any unusual sounds, content but alert, wary despite the otherwise empty house. Iwaizumi takes his weight, like always. Even breathing pressing up against his slumped form.

It takes a bit for Oikawa’s knot to go down. They laze, tails twining together, until finally Iwaizumi kicks him off to use the bathroom. Come leaks down Iwaizumi’s legs. Oikawa fights down the urge to scoop it up and shove it back into Iwaizumi’s cunt. 

Omegas can’t get pregnant unless they’re in heat, but the instinct is there, singing in Oikawa’s blood. He forces himself to look away.

Iwaizumi throws a spare set of clothes mercilessly into Oikawa’s face. “Get dressed.” He grimaces at himself in the mirror, and dumps their sweaty shirts into the laundry basket hidden in his closet. Iwaizumi opens the door. “Make sure you clean up,” he says, then disappears out of sight.

The fresh air clears Oikawa’s head just enough to get him moving. He hears the water start.

Iwaizumi’s shirt fits him nicely, though the collar tugs on one of his ears as he pulls it on. He cleans his dick with some tissues he steals from Iwaizumi’s nightstand. The borrowed shorts slide on with ease. He tosses the tissues into the garbage. 

It hurts to watch Iwaizumi clean himself out. 

Oikawa knows from experience. The instinct to fuck and impregnate is stupidly strong, so he waits for the water to stop running before heading to the bathroom. He relieves himself as Iwaizumi dries off. 

They brush their teeth side by side. Oikawa leans heavily against the sink. The counter is cool against the hot skin of his forearms. Iwaizumi’s spare toothbrush has a light that counts down two minutes, and Oikawa knows that he has to brush the allotted time, or risk sitting through Iwaizumi’s thoughts on the matter. 

They spit foam into the sink and take turns wiping their faces dry with a small blue towel. Iwaizumi slaps Oikawa’s hand away when it slides along his ass on their way back to his room, tail bristling. 

It smells like sex. There are traces of brown sugar, Oikawa’s own scent, still lingering in the air. He revels in it, the sign of a job well done, but Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose before heading to the window. He pushes it open. Cool night wind washes over them both, as does the sound of leaves rustling. 

Oikawa collapses onto Iwaizumi’s bed. He doesn’t spare the abandoned futon a glance, not even when Iwaizumi pointedly stares at how he tucks himself into newly washed sheets. 

“Hey, Iwa-chan, we should see how flexible you really are,” Oikawa says. The mattress dips as Iwaizumi lays down next to him. Heat rolls off of Iwaizumi in waves. 

“Go the fuck to sleep, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa feigns hurt, but Iwaizumi doesn’t shove him away when he gets closer. So he snuggles into Iwaizumi’s arms. The faint scent of body wash rises from dark skin. 

It doesn’t smell like cedarwood anymore.

Oikawa sets a hand on Iwaizumi’s flat stomach. “Sweet dreams, Iwa-chan.”

He may not be able to satisfy his girlfriends, but at least he’ll always have Iwaizumi like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re not looking for an incomplete and likely forever I completed story, stop here! The rest is a set up for a story I’ll likely never write, but I wanted to post it bc I also like thinking about possibilities and if anyone else likes that too then they can think about it more LOL


	2. Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi is incredibly stingy. Good for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is the preface for a larger story I’ll probably never write—but I’m putting it out there because I liked reading it when I gave this another look over. Don’t read this if you’re not okay with the idea of it never continuing. I’ve been kind of at a creative crossroads and I wrote this like...a year ago so I don’t think I’ll ever pick it up again—but I like where it was going so feel free to read it if you want!

Oikawa meets Rina on campus.

Rina is one of the cutest girls Oikawa has ever seen. Definitely cuter than Megumi. She laughs at his jokes, and she actually likes volleyball. He makes the time to take her on dates. They kiss at the park and sleep together on her bright blue blankets. 

Which is why the break up blindsides him. 

“She was so perfect, Iwa-chan. Brains, beauty, the whole package,” Oikawa whines. He pushes the remainder of his dinner around his bowl. The curry is lukewarm and unappetizing. He’s already eaten all of the meat, so he sets his spoon aside with a clatter. 

His elbow clips the corner of the table. It doesn’t hurt, but he huffs anyway. The kitchen table is shoddy at best, held together with glue, and the power of Iwaizumi’s stinginess. 

Oikawa stands to dump the rest of his food into the small trash can by the sink. His tail twists behind him. Still-warm rice sits in the cooker. He pops the lid open. The homey smell rises with the steam that fogs up his glasses. 

“Unplug that, will you?” Iwaizumi calls. He doesn’t turn around.

Oikawa leans over the counter to unplug the machine. “Rina-chan always made delicious rice,” he moans sadly. 

Pink sunlight streams in through the kitchen window. It shines in Oikawa’s eyes when he sits back down, so he leans a bit to his left, hiding the shade of Iwaizumi’s ears.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi says, absentminded. Air from a standing fan disturbs the pages of his text book. His shoulders hunch as he scribbles notes into a faded notebook, scrawling sloppy kanji in black ink. He takes a bite of his food without looking. A piece of rice gets stuck to his lip. His tail taps against the back of the chair.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Oikawa gripes. He leans over to swipe Iwaizumi’s pen. 

Iwaizumi’s head snaps up. A frown plasters itself across his face. His tail flicks back and forth in irritation. “Give it back, Shittykawa.” He sounds more resigned than angry, so Oikawa sits back and twirls the stolen pen between his fingers.

“No. Not until you pay attention to me.” 

Iwaizumi unearths a pencil from a satchel sitting at his elbow. “If I paid attention to you every time you told me to, I’d never be able to do anything else,” he replies. The textbook takes his focus again.

Oikawa refuses to give up. His ears perk up. “Let’s do something fun,” he says. “Let’s go to an arcade.”

“No.”

“A movie?”

“No.”

The table shakes when Oikawa’s knee nudges one of its legs. “We could always just stay in,” he suggests. His foot trails up Iwaizumi’s leg, tail swishing playfully as he waits for a response. 

Iwaizumi freezes. “About that,” he mutters. Oikawa watches as his ears flatten before straightening back up, then flattening again. There are many things Oikawa knows about Iwaizumi—what he likes to eat, that he knows how to get blood stains out of anything, and that Iwaizumi is about to say something serious.

“Are you bored of me already?” Oikawa teases. He means it as a joke, but Iwaizumi stiffens in a way that tells him he shouldn’t have said it. His foot tucks itself back beneath him.

“We can’t sleep together anymore.”

A beat passes. The fan blows air through Iwaizumi’s hair, then Oikawa’s, then back again. Cedarwood. Brown sugar. Both together.

Oikawa tilts his head. “Why not? It’s not like we’re going to get in trouble for fucking.”

Iwaizumi frowns. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I’m seeing someone.” Finally, he realizes there’s rice stuck to his lip. He eats it.

Oh.

Oikawa smiles. “Iwa-chan’s first college relationship. How exciting,” he croons. His tail snaps behind him. He grins even wider. “Is it serious?”

As soon as he says it, Iwaizumi bites down an awkward smile. It’s unsettling, the way Iwaizumi’s gaze darts away, soft. 

“Yeah, I think it is.”

Oikawa’s teeth dig into the meat of his tongue. “Congratulations, Iwa-chan. You finally found a girl willing to put up with your mean face.” He rests his chin in his hand. Iwaizumi’s scent wafting over him as the fan makes another pass. “Tell me about her,” Oikawa says, not meaning it.

Iwaizumi tenses again, but he meets Oikawa’s eyes, resolute. “He likes my face.”

He likes my face, Oikawa’s mind repeats.

“Well not everyone can have good taste,” Oikawa declares. His voice is too loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Iwaizumi kicks him.

“Shut up, Asskawa.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says with a pout. Iwaizumi snorts, but doesn’t reply.

Oikawa’s nails carve into his thigh.

***

Sanada Shunpei is undeniably attractive, and Oikawa wants to throttle him.

“He’s arrogant.”

“You’re not allowed to call anyone arrogant,” Hanamaki says with a bored expression, thin tail writhing behind him. He reaches over to steal a strawberry from Oikawa’s parfait.

Oikawa swats Hanamaki’s hand away. A bit of cream smears onto his fingertips. “He has a  _ mullet _ ,” he announces, licking away the cream. “Iwa-Chan is dating a walking mullet. I can’t allow that.”

“I don’t really think you have a choice,” Matsukawa cuts in. The tines of his fork drag through the red beans on his plate. He spears two. “Besides, don’t you have a date in half an hour?” His brows draw up toward his hairline. 

Oikawa thinks of Mamori. She smells nice, and scrunches her nose when she laughs. A text sits in her inbox with a cancellation and an apology. 

He shakes his head, then flashes them both a cheesy smile. “Nope, I’m free to celebrate being a bachelor with you guys.” 

Matsukawa chews. “You’ve never wanted to celebrate that before.”

Oikawa sniffs. He takes a bite of his rapidly melting parfait. “That was before my best friend started dating a loser with a mullet. Now I’m glad I’m single. Can you imagine? Dating someone with a mullet like that?”

“Okay now I need to see what this guy looks like,” Hanamaki says. He leans an elbow against the cafe table. A crumpled napkin falls to the floor as he flicks Oikawa’s phone. “Pull up a picture.”

“You think I have a picture of Iwa-chan’s boyfriend?” Oikawa asks. 

“Absolutely,” Matsukawa cuts in. “You’ve definitely checked out his social media.”

Oikawa has, but he made sure to clear his history after doing so. He shrugs. “You’ll have to find it on your own.” 

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. 

“Stingy,” Hanamaki says. He pulls out his own phone. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t remember,” Oikawa replies with a pout. Hanamaki kicks his foot beneath the table. Oikawa’s fur puffs up in indignation. 

“Doesn’t matter I guess,” Matsukawa drawls. “Iwaizumi Hajime changed his relationship status.” He turns his phone so they can both see the recent update. A candid photo of Iwaizumi bounces against Sanada Shunpei’s picture. 

“He’s the ace pitcher?” Hanamaki comments with a low whistle. “Impressive.” Matsukawa taps on Sanada’s profile. The small shot of him pitching, the number on his back facing the camera, blows up on the screen. 

Oikawa frowns. Sanada Shunpei has a really nice ass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again—I hope you enjoyed—even if it’ll never continue. Ty for reading and please lmk how you feel in the comments if you want to!

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 is the preface for a larger story I’ll probably never write—but I’m putting it out there because I liked reading it when I gave this another look over. Anyway I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
